


Distraction

by Navyrants



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: ADD Kate Marsh, ADD Max Caulfield, F/F, Fluff, Just two dorks being cute, this is the first real thing I've written in months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5134781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navyrants/pseuds/Navyrants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason, it's just that much harder to focus today. You may as well not even try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Distracción](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375010) by [AvatarYumiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarYumiko/pseuds/AvatarYumiko)



> I've been dying to get back into writing, so I finally just sat myself down with a notebook instead of trying to type it out on my laptop and it worked wonders. Here's a oneshot about adhd inattentive type (ADD) Max and Kate.

It's rare that Max finds her way to class before you. Not that you blame her for that, of course--you know how she gets distracted. You’re the same way sometimes. But it’s still surprising when you step into the photography classroom to find her already at her desk in the back of the room, scribbling in her notebook. You smile to yourself as you make your way toward her to chat before class starts.

“Good afternoon, Max,” you greet her, and she jumps. You almost feel bad for startling her, but the way she blinks up at you is so cute you can’t help but giggle.

“Oh! Hi, Kate. Sorry, I didn’t really notice you come in.” As she returns your greeting, you pull a granola bar from your bag and slide it across the table. Her eyes light up when she sees it, and you think she must have forgotten breakfast. Again.

You let her finish it before you continue the conversation, and she smiles at you gratefully as she crumples the wrapper. Behind you, more students file into the room.

“How was studying last night?” You ask, because you know she has trouble with it. Her sheepish expression tells you everything.

“I, um. I got distracted. You know how it is.” It’s true, you do know. It took you years to figure out how to study. Max has it even harder since none of your best tactics seem to work for her. Neither of you are giving up though, so you give her a reassuring look.

“That’s alright. We’ll try something different next time, okay?”

The bell rings just as she nods, and the teacher is calling for everyone to sit down, but you pass her another granola bar before taking your seat.

You like this class, and you usually take pretty good notes (luckily for Max, who usually takes none), but it’s harder to focus today for some reason. Your pen keeps straying to the margins to etch messy strokes that begin to resemble people.

You draw yourself first, with your hair down like you never wear it. Then your younger sister; you don’t get to see her much while you’re in school, and you miss her sometimes. Then your hand produces Max, and that’s when you realize you’ve been glancing up at her periodically. The teacher drones on in the background.

Max hasn’t noticed your looks. You know, because she isn’t really noticing anything right now. You can almost see the thoughts racing through her mind and you can’t help but wonder what they are. You wonder if she’s worried about her science quiz tomorrow, or if she’s thinking about going home for Thanksgiving, or about her plans after class if she has any.

Part of you wonders if she’s thinking about you, but you try not to dwell on that.

Instead, you turn your attention back to the lecture. You’re a good student, you think. You should be taking notes. Chiaroscuro. Yes, you’re fascinated by what the teacher is saying. You’re processing every word. Absolutely.

Until you realize you’re focusing so hard on trying to focus that you haven’t actually absorbed anything. And when you look down at your notes, you find you’ve drawn Max again. Darn.

At this point, you’re ready to admit that paying attention might be a bit of a lost cause, so you just let yourself doodle. You sketch the bench by the dorms where you like to sit, and the squirrels that are always nearby. You glance out the window and draw the first person you see--a tall girl with brown hair and a purple tank top. You draw yourself again, with much shorter hair, just to see what it would look like. And you can’t help yourself from a couple more Max doodles. She’s fun to draw, you think.

Then the bell is ringing and it scares you so much you almost fall out of your chair. Looking over, you can see it startled Max as well, who looks a little embarrassed at having daydreamed the class away. Though, with her talent, you don’t think she really needs to pay much attention.

You just hope she doesn’t ask for your notes today.

She packs her things faster than you, but she waits as you finish. You tuck your pens and highlighters into their proper places before closing your notebook and stowing it as well. You give her a beaming smile as you stand, shrugging on your favorite sweater (mid-November is chilly in Oregon) and slinging your bag across your shoulder. You feel a bit lighter when she returns the smile enthusiastically. The two of you leave the classroom at a leisurely pace, relaxed in the knowledge that you have no more classes today.

Outside, a breeze carries orange and golden leaves across the courtyard, painting a perfect picture of autumn. There’s silence hanging between you, which you’re okay with, because it’s comfortable just being with Max like this. And sure, maybe you forget your words a bit more often around her, but you know she doesn’t mind.

“You seemed kind of distracted today,” she notes, and though it’s a statement you can hear a question behind it. You feel a blush start to creep onto your cheeks, because _she_ was your distraction.

But instead of saying so, you nudge her arm and give her a playful, “You’re one to talk!” She laughs and rubs the back of her neck.

“Well, it’s just that your notes didn’t look very much like notes.” Oh. It hadn’t occurred to you that she might peek at your notebook while she waited for you to pack up. She must have seen all of your drawings, at least four of which are of her. Your blush deepens.

When you look at her, though, she’s got this guilty expression on her face, like she thinks you might be mad at her for looking. Which is ridiculous, you think, because could you ever really be mad at her?

And she looks so cute as she starts to apologize, hands tugging at her clothes like they do when she’s nervous or restless, and then you realize you haven’t said anything and you’re just _staring_ at her--

“Do you want to get tea later? As a date?” Your face is still hot and she’s still standing close to you, but you’re not looking at her anymore. You can hardly believe your own boldness. 

To her credit, she seems just as shocked. There’s a solid sixty seconds of silence before she manages to stammer out a yes. And then you’re beaming at her again, and though your blush hasn’t faded, there’s a twinkle in her eyes when she smiles back that makes everything feel bright.

Distraction, you think, is not always a bad thing.


End file.
